


Divulgence

by MosaicCreme, squiggly_squid



Series: Idiosyncratic Assassin [2]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 16:16:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7899499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MosaicCreme/pseuds/MosaicCreme, https://archiveofourown.org/users/squiggly_squid/pseuds/squiggly_squid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ares, known as ThisGuy800 on the 'Assassins Unveiled' forums, tracks down YouDon'tKnow and shows him he still has a lot to learn.  Is the man ready for the turian assassin?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Divulgence

_ Posted by: YouDon’tKnow - Come find me, I’m waiting. _

Closing up his contract on Vivon, Ares is free to do as he pleases until a new contract falls into his lap. What better time than now to play? He can always use the exercise in tracking, even if the target being tracked isn’t so much his target as some form of entertainment. 

He sits in the shipping crate, with nothing but the light of his Tool to illuminate his surroundings, as he downloads  _ YouDon’tKnow _ ’s extranet address and begins to trace it through the communications relays. 

First glance, and he already finds the poster isn’t on Illium - _ looks like I’ll be taking a trip _ \- but it isn’t nearly enough for him as he follows it further across the galaxy, plucking at the threads of the massive web of the extranet. The signal comes from the Widow comm relay -  _ Citadel, most like - _ and, when going deeper, he is proven right. The Citadel’s relay protocol reveals it to be the origin comm hub. 

He chuckles and rumbles as his fingers move over the interface, sinking deeper into the data. Soon, he narrows it down to Zakera, and finds what he’s looking for - the Extranet Protocol address. There’s no way to fake such a thing except, as he’s learned, to routinely cycle through Tools able to fit his most basic needs. Even then, there’s always be the possibility of being tracked,  _ if  _ anyone even knew he still existed.

With EP address found, Ares stands and opens a separate command prompt, checking scheduled disembarking vessels from the nearby docks. Slipping into the cargo of ships is easy, one of the first things they learned in training, and something he’s gotten good at in the time after the fire.To the point that even the ship’s sensors don’t catch him thanks to a scrambling protocol in constant use on his Omni-Tool. 

With transport chosen in the form of an export vessel, transporting Illium grown and raised food across the galaxy to the Citadel, he grabs his belongings and slings them over his shoulder. He slides the locking bar of the shipping container’s door up and aside, swinging the heavy metal door out before stepping into the dark violets of the setting Illium sun. Ares slams the door closed, hearing the lock bang shut, and heads towards the docks with his new set of facial plates and paints neatly covering his scars.

When he arrives at the docks, bustling with the night crew that use the absence of commercial transports in and out - and the public that comes with it to get in the way - he leans over the railing to look down, becoming just one more of the curious onlookers. His vessel out of here is on the very next platform, a large ship still being stocked by crew rushing in and out to get the cargo bay filled by their deadline in three hours. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Ares looks at the human man addressing him and nods lightly, hoping this doesn’t turn into some grand conversation about ships. “I love watching the ships come in and out.” The tanned man smiles and takes a step closer, motioning out to a drifting vessel awaiting entry directions. “You shipping out?”

Ares nods, finding the perfect excuse to get out of this pointless discussion. He wishes the man would move on, but he might not be so lucky when he sees a hand move into his peripheral.  _ Wonderful... introductions. _

“Steve Cortez,” he says with a smile. Ares’ mandible flicks before he takes the hand, shaking it. He’s never understood humans’ insistence on touching, but this at least gives him a witness to his act of just being a curious watcher.

“Aelianus Reguis,” he lies, releasing the hand to look back at the ships. The man says something else, to which Ares merely nods in agreement without paying attention. The prattling seems to go on forever before a voice calls.

“Steve!” Ares holds back a sigh, rumbling in exasperation as he sees yet another male human walking briskly towards them, arm raised and huge grin on his face.

“Robert!” This Steve, leaving Ares’ side to rush to the other man and hug him.  _ Good. Maybe they’ll leave now. _ “This is Aelianus. We were just talking about the ships coming in.”

“You mean  _ you  _ were talking,” the other man retorts. The newcomer, with light skin and hair the color of grass dying in the heat, offers a hand that Ares has to take and shake. “Name’s Robert. Nice to meet you.” He looks to the other human, their close proximity speaking of comfort and something more than friendship. “You ready to go?”

The man named Steve nods and smiles back at him. “It was really nice talking to you, Aelianus.”

“And you as well.” Life has taught him well how to fake pleasantries. He nods in parting, watching the couple walk towards the more tourist focussed district of Nos Astra with Robert’s arm slung around Steve’s shoulders. 

_ Strange people _ . Looking down at the ships, he counts the minutes before he sees a ship disembark. It’s the best excuse he has to stop watching, the ship he was feigning to watch already moving away off into the atmosphere. His targeted vessel is still being loaded as he moves away from the railing and towards the maintenance access that will take him down to the platforms. 

Knowing all eyes are on a large passenger ship coming in to prepare for the morning traffic, he slips into the darkened stairwell and follows it down. When he arrives at the lowered docks, with its constant movement of workers and crew, he shifts his crate to hold between both hands. Should anyone see him, he will just look like any other worker trying to get their work done, even if it takes him having to carry each crate by hand, and not like the intruder he really is. 

Getting onto the ship and finding an alcove between crates out of the sights of the crew is easy enough. As an added bonus, the cold seeping from the refrigeration units across the cargo hold will keep him cool and at ease while he sits out this long journey.

With ears and eyes open for anything amiss, Ares leans back against his crate and steels himself for the usual lack of sleep these kinds of trips entail. It wouldn’t help him much if he were discovered because he let himself do something as frivolous as sleep. Not after he was trained and drilled with the fact that he  _ can  _ go without sleep for long periods. It’s become something he’s used to.

While he waits, he opens his Tool and begins to read about this twenty-seven year old human male going by the handle  _ YouDon’tKnow. _

* * *

 

The Citadel is not as he remembered, but much brighter, much cleaner than the dirt of Omega or the illusion of a pristine nature that barely makes Illium. He knows it's not the case, but he can’t help the distasteful flick of his mandibles at the bustling crowds that seem to have no direction. Why anyone would live in this lie of control and order, he doesn’t want to know. Not when his eyes -  _ or, only good one  _ \- has been opened.

His first destination is  _ Citadel Souvenirs,  _ where his intended target works.True to his apparent great work ethic, there he stands, Charles Fairclough, a.k.a  _ YouDon’tKnow _ . He’s definitely not as expected, with his thin build and closely cropped hair, but then again Ares isn’t all that close to his own extranet persona. Not that he believes a woman, of all things, would be one to flirt on the extranet, but he has to admit he wanted to find something less  _ fragile. _ One look and Ares feels like he could break the man.

He knows that Fairclough still has half his shift to go, and Ares doesn’t linger, having no interest in watching the monotonous back and forth of tending to tourists as they shop for souvenirs that will only collect dust on their shelves. Instead, he travels to the closest of his safe-houses, a small apartment with a dark skinned, human tenant that is always too drunk or high to ever notice a tall, scarred turian walking in and out of his home. Well, so long as Ares keeps the man stocked up on said drugs and drink, which isn’t all that difficult a task.

He spends his time awaiting his ‘meeting’ cleaning his weapon and making some new heat sinks, his hands shaking just slightly when he thinks of the burn they can leave when spent. Now, they remain cool as metal in snow, but after? After is something he wants nothing to do with.

Some time later, his Omni-Tool chimes to alert that now is the time. With still an hour before Fairclough’s shift ends, Ares has enough time to arrive at his apartment, scope it out, and wait. 

The walk is not far, and with his hood pulled up, everyone gets the clear signal that he is not to be approached or addressed. Fairclough's building isn’t as dilapidated as he’d have guessed, his work obviously paying enough to buy an apartment that isn’t guaranteed to be infested with some species’ equivalent of a pest. 

Using his Tool to scramble the access panel, he lets himself in and heads for the lift, taking it up to the eighth floor. Once there, he finds room 806 and is less than impressed with the lock his finds, taking him only a moment to hack open. 

Once inside, he finds a typical ‘bachelor pad’. Or what he would imagine of one given the references to the description in what few vids he manages to catch. Clothes lay over furniture, and a smell of something stale reaches his sensitive nose, but he isn’t here to discuss cleaning habits. Whatever disgusting things the man does in this apartment is not his concern. For now, he is curious of the outcome of all the flirtatious comments.

Deciding to wait where the scent of body odor and rancid food containers cannot reach him, Ares heads to the balcony and lights a cigarette. The game is set. Now for  _ YouDon’tKnow  _ to arrive.

It’s a little over an hour -  _ transit must be slow  _ \- before he hears the chime of the door’s lock sound, followed by the slide as it moves aside. He chuckles inwardly as he hears footsteps enter, followed by a tired sigh, and the plop of a body onto the couch.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting,” he says from the balcony, using the man’s username as he turns to face him. 

Charles jumps from the couch, trying to grab for a lamp or anything to defend himself, but comes up with nothing. “Wh… Who  _ are  _ you?! How did you get in apartment?!” 

His blue eyes jerk around the room, looking for more intruders before snapping back to the tall turian, and Ares chuckles, smirking. “Don’t tell me you don’t recognize me.” He pulls the cuffs from his pocket and lets them hang from his finger. “Hate to break it to you, but there’s no such thing as ‘assassin garb’. We just tend to use what fits our job.”

As if eyes could widen any more, realization hits the man. “ _ You’re  _ ThisGuy800?! How… how did you find me?”

“I have various means of finding out what I want to know,” he responds with a step into the apartment, leaning against the door frame between apartment seating room and balcony. “I do believe you challenged me into ‘finding’ you.”

* * *

 

Charles stumbles back, bumping into the end table, sending an abandoned glass of water clattering to the floor. “Shit.” He takes his eyes off the strange turian standing in his apartment to glance at the puddle of water soaking through the carpet. Then, as if remembering that the intruder was quite possibly there to kill him, Charles’ eyes jerk back to the intimidating presence , his jaw agape. “Shit. I mean uh … .” He laughs, the nervousness squeezing his throat, making his voice squeak and crack. “You know that the uh, the whole ‘all turians are assassins’ thing was a joke, right? I mean, I uh, I don’t really think that, and I … .” Charles takes a step back, running his hand along the couch to guide himself. “I don’t have anything against turians. At all, I mean, really. I think turians are fantastic … and uh … .”

The turian flicks his mandibles, a gesture Charles’  _ thinks  _ means he’s amused but he can’t be sure. Charles takes another step back, stumbling over a crease in the rug when the turian takes a step forward. Twirling the cuffs once over his finger, he gives a slight shake of his head. “Oh, I’m not here for that.”

Charles’ gaze flickers from the turian’s face to the cuffs and back again, the reality of his situation settling in over him feeling more like the haze of a surreal dream. Charles barked out a laugh, short and sharp. His brow furrowing, even as his lips spread showing two rows of perfect, white teeth. “You’re kidding?” Still, the idea was tantalizing—if terrifying—to say the least. “Aren’t you supposed to be naked and tied to the bed?”

“Well, I didn’t think it was fair to start without you.” The turian with sweeping patterns in a vivid red covering his silver face plates holds the cuffs out, still dangling from one long, thick finger toward Charles, daring him to step forward and claim them. 

Charles’ tongue darts out, pushing what little moisture he can work up in his suddenly very, very dry mouth out onto his lips. He clears his throat, and takes another step back. “I uh … I think I need a drink.”

“Please. Don’t let me keep you from it,” the turian says with a single mandible pulling from the side of his face,a rumbling emanating from him.

Charles nods absently as he continues to back his way toward the kitchen. He stumbles over the rug once more,banging his calf against the next end table as he goes. “I, uh, I guess you can’t really drink the human stuff, huh? I don’t have anything else to offer you. Water, I guess?” Charles swallows against the knot forming in his throat as the turian flicks a mandible, grinning in now obvious amusement. Charles just wishes he knew whether it was fun-loving or predatory. Right about now, he feels an awful lot like a rabbit scampering from bush to bush while being stalked by a fox. The turian takes long, casual steps after him, slowly following him deeper into the apartment. Charles gulps, not giving the predator a chance to answer his first question. “So uh, what’s your name? I mean, I can’t just call you ThisGuy800 all night, right? I’m uh … I’m guessing you know my name.”

“Call me… Thanatos.” He shrugs. “It doesn’t matter.” He covers the steps between seating room and kitchen, leaning on the counter as he watches Charles pull a bottle of whiskey from the refrigeration unit. 

Charles swallows again, chuckling as he scrounges through his cabinets until he finds a glass to suit his purposes. His hand trembles as he pours the amber liquid, spilling some over the edge of the glass and onto the counter. “The Greek god of death, of course. Unless that has some relevance in turian mythology I don’t know about?” Charles swipes his palm over the counter, leaving a streak of whiskey behind as he brushes the majority of it off into the sink. He brings his hand to his mouth, licking away the excess while watching the turian, gauging his response. 

The turian going by the name Thanatos growls and leans closer, running a single gloved talon over the rim of Charles’ glass. “We have a similar pronunciation,” he says with a deeper tone to his voice. With a small trace of the strong liquor on his finger, Thanatos lifts his hand to his mouth to run his long tongue along the digit, slowly and without ever breaking eye contact.

Charles stares. Realizing his mouth is hanging open, he quickly brings his cup to his lips, draining half the glass. He sets it back on the counter before fishing out another, holding the cup out in question. Thanatos nods once and motions to the bottle with a hand. Charles fills the glass, holding it out to him with a lopsided grin. When the turian takes the glass, Charles lets his fingertips brush over Thanatos’ gloved hand, testing the waters. 

Thanatos lets out another deep thrum, one of his mandibles flicking out into what Charles is starting to think of as a smirk. “You’re much too timid.” His voice is more growl than words, making it a bit difficult for Charles to hear, even through the translator. “Let’s speed this up, shall we?” With that, Thanatos steps around the counter and sets his glass down. “Don’t fear me or this won’t be very entertaining.”

Charles winces at the chastisement, but recovers quickly enough. A cocky grin splits his face as he sets his cup down on the counter behind him. He reaches out, slipping the cuffs from Thanatos’ grip with one hand, bundling the fabric at his neck with the other. Using his newfound handle, he tugs at the turian, leading him off into the darkness of the apartment.

* * *

 

Humans have no idea how strong their scents becomes when aroused, how telling it is of their desires. It’s what Ares uses to get the human to move this game along. After all, what’s better than getting drunk enough to find the courage, but staying sober enough to actually remember said courage?

Letting an approving rumble vibrate in his chest, he follows Charles down the short hall and into a bedroom. About the same size as the seating area, the room is occupied by a bed, dresser, desk, and vidscreen on a stand. His eyes take it all in even before his host turns on the light and glances at the smaller man to see what he plans. Not that he wouldn’t take control in a heartbeat.

Charles wastes little time, even as his odd human fingers fumble with the unfamiliar clothing. He tugs at Ares’ shirt, his eyes pleading for cooperation. Ares chuckles, grinning at the uncoordinated attempt to get him out of his clothes. “First turian?” he asks smugly with a raised brow.

“Well, to be fair, I’m still not entirely convinced you aren’t going to try and kill me, so … .” The human scrunches his nose up and lifts a shoulder sheepishly. 

“If I wanted that, you’d already be dead.” He chuckles again at the man’s wide eyed look and shakes his head. “I don’t kill without reason… so don’t give me one,” he adds as he begins to lead the human’s hands to the closures of his shirt, pulling his hood off when Charles seems to have the hang of it.

Charles grins, showing that his online persona really isn’t all that different from the man standing in front of Ares. “Haven’t you ever heard of cat and mouse?” Charles works at the closures, glancing up at Ares. “And what exactly would one need to do to give you reason?”

“Have an enemy pissed enough to put a contract out on you,” he states without inflection. He’s rehearsed the mantra of ‘no hard feelings’ plenty of times, but he doesn’t see an actual need anyone would have to target this human. 

Charles puckers his fleshy lips in a pout. “I’m hardly interesting enough to have enemies. I’m barely interesting enough to have friends. Although, this certainly makes my life more interesting.”

“Fucking a turian? Or an assassin?” Ares lifts a brow and tilts his head with a questioning rumble before spreading his mandibles teasingly. “And that ‘all turians are assassins’ post might get you enemies.”

“Mmm. Both. And that’s okay, it brought you here.” Charles grins, abandoning Ares clothes to start working on his own.

Now that the tiny, five-fingered hands are no longer fumbling at his clothes, he unsnaps the closures with ease and pulls his loosened shirt from his torso, his gloves tossed into the pile. His face may be ‘fixed’ but he didn’t bother with covering the massive, deep scars across his chest and torso. 

He’ll just have to make sure Charles’ lips are sealed at the end of this. Wouldn’t do to have  _ YouDon’tKnow _ spreading the word that  _ ThisGuy800 _ is really a scarred turian. It just leaves too many possibilities that he doesn’t like. 

Charles pulls the shirt over his head with ease, blocking his field of vision momentarily. It is evident when the human’s eyes catch sight of the scarring, as he freezes like stunned prey, his shirt trapping his arms. Charles slowly drops the shirt, his gaze flickering to Ares’ eyes only briefly before reaching a hand out toward Ares’ chest. 

As if reading his mind -  _ why do humans insist on touching everything _ \- Ares snarls in threat and moves like lightning, snatching Charles’ hand before his fingers can brush the scarring. He may not have much sensation there, but he can’t stop his mind from feeling the lick of flames across his hide when someone gropes at his scars. Plus, he’s pretty sure that’s  _ pity _ he sees in the man’s eyes. And he hates it.

Charles startles, jerking at the sudden motion, clearly shocked at having his hand restrained. He doesn’t pull away though, instead,he tilts his head back to look up at Ares, confusion filling his eyes. “This won’t be much fun if I’m not allowed to touch you.”

“You aren’t allowed to feel pity for me,” he says, almost a snarl. “Do, and I walk.”

Charles dips his brow’s and seems to snarl back, his tone biting when he responds. “Who the fuck says I’m feeling pity for you? I thought it was hot, but whatever. Moving on.” Charles jerks his hand away, now sullen and withdrawn.

Ares rumbles in thought as he looks the human up and down with narrowed, scrutinizing eyes. “Most don’t touch something that’s ‘hot’, they fear it.”

Charles rolls his eyes. “It’s just a term. You know what I meant. But, sorry, clearly that’s a … sensitive subject for you.”

He nods and steps closer to the human, rumbling in an apology he won’t say. That’s too much to ask from him, for a - to him - normal reaction. “Yes. It is. But it’s also not why I hunted you down.”

Charles tries again, reaching a hand out to Ares’ arm instead, the edge of his voice softening. “How far exactly did you come?”

“Illium.”

His eyebrow quirks, white teeth showing in a grin. “No shit? Well, I’ll try not to disappoint.” Charles runs his hand up Ares’ arm to rest on his shoulder, avoiding scar tissue as he goes, using it to pull him closer to the bed.

_ Now we’re moving along _ . With a slight flap of his mandible before growling, he moves fast enough to slide a foot in front of Charles’ ankle, using it to topple him over onto the bed. He grunts as he catches himself on his hands and looks back with a completely confused look. A smirk is the only response he gets as Ares climbs the bed to pin the man between his arms. “You didn’t think this would be easy, did you?”

Charles grins, attempting to shrug unsuccessfully from his position beneath Ares. “I didn’t think this was going to happen at all. Though, I do recall you being far more submissive online.”

Ares shrugs, his tone dry as he says, “I’m an assassin, remember? We could’ve beat you on Shanxi, but didn’t have the knowledge. Now I do.” He smiles smuggly when he feels Charles’ heart rate spike at the mention of Shanxi. Whether from fear or excitement he can’t tell, but he doesn’t quite care/ Leaning down, Ares nips, just a hair on the rough side, at Charles’ bare shoulder. 

Charles’ gasps, whispering through clenched teeth. “Fuck me.”

He rumbles almost inaudibly and leans back enough to tug at the waist of the man’s pants. “Lift up and unbutton them, or I rip them off.”

Charles sucks his lip in between his teeth, letting the blunted edges scrape across the pink flesh. “Rip them off.”

He likes the way the human thinks and hooks his talons in the fabric, shredding it into tatters. Tossing the useless fabric away, he leans up on one arm to unclasp his own pants, releasing his erection. “Have you been with a man before?”

Charles twists, trying to get a better look, his eyes widening as he nods his head. Not really remembering the curiosity of seeing a new species for all it is, he smirks and leans up on his knees to give the human a nice look at the ridges running along his length, glistening with his natural lubrication. Charles’ eyes light up with excitement, and he takes advantage of his new found freedom, wrapping his hand around Ares’ cock. Wiggling to sit up and gain leverage, Charles puts a hand on Ares’ abdomen, urging him back to the bed’s surface. 

“Is this where you cuff me?” He flicks his mandibles and shifts his legs to lay back, covering Charles’ hand with his own, not wanting to lose contact as he pulls the human along.

Charles pumps his hand up and down in a long stroke, earning him a low growl of approval. The human clambers over Ares, his plateless thighs straddling him as he leans over, fumbling around in the bedside table. “I think we lost yours.” He pulls out another set of cuffs, and after smearing Ares’ juices over his thigh to wipe his hand clean, he proceeds to wrap the cuffs around the metal bar of the headboard, pulling Ares’ hands up to secure his wrists.

Ares raises a brow and tests the cuffs.  _ Fetish made. Weak enough to break _ . Filing that for later, he looks hungrily up at the human. “I expect you to do all the work now.”

He laughs and tugs playfully at the cuffs. “They have a safety release, unlike yours. I like mine better for this.” Charles moves down, positioning himself between Ares’ legs, forcing them spread wider. “Now lie still and let me figure out how you work.”

Raising an intrigued brow, Ares thrums and looks down. “I am yours to ‘figure out’.”

Charles swats the inside of Ares’ thigh and gets a chuckle in response. “Smart ass.” He runs his hand along Ares’ dense muscles, moving from hard plate to smooth hide. “So, I take it the whole levo-dextro thing is overrated?”

“Short answer? Yes. Long answer? It’s not something to concern yourself with.”

Charles smirks. “Or you’re just trying to get me to poison myself on your cock.” He shrugs, leaning forward, his mouth inches away from the tip and whispers, “We’ll see.” 

Charles moves a hand to brace the base before enveloping Ares’ cock with his warm, moist mouth. Ares closes his eyes at the heat around his cock and a deep, gravelly rumble falls from his mouth. He lifts his hips just enough to push himself a fraction of an inch deeper into Charles’ mouth, a silent request to keep going. Charles moans, his throat adding an interesting vibration to the motion as he slides his mouth up and down Ares’ length, using a free hand to push his hips flush with the bed as the other strokes the base of Ares’ cock.

One quality of those species with lips he can’t get over is the suction that Charles is using right now. He groans, pulling on the cuffs in want for more. The scent of the human’s arousal is close to suffocating him and he’s moments from shattering these binds to take him despite their arrangement. 

“You’re a fucking tease.” His voice snarls from his mouth plates and he looks at the man, seeing his eyes dark with desire.

Charles pulls back and grins. “If you don’t like it, I can always stop. You just have to remember our safe word.” The mischief gleaming in his eyes only further taunts Ares. 

“Or… I could break these nice little cuffs of yours and show you how turians fuck.” 

He makes a tsking sound and shakes his head. “Safety release. You break, you buy.”

Ares smirks, pulling his arm down to snap the small chain that holds the two cuffs together. Seeing Charles’ eyes widen in surprise, he rumbles in amusement. “Oops.”

Charles sits up, leaning back on his heels, his erection bobbing out in front of him and grins. “I’ve got five more of ‘em. But you still owe me.”

Chuffing, Ares cuts right to the chase, sitting up and wrapping his hand around the back of Charles’ head. “I’ll show you exactly what I  _ owe  _ you,” he whispers huskily into the man’s ear, and taking pride at the slight shiver, he moves to the free space on the mattress before pushing him down roughly. He stands before Charles can pull himself up and walks to the foot of the bed, grabbing an ankle and yanking him back to the edge of the mattress. When he flips him, he flicks an amused mandible at the coy smirk on the man’s face.

Leaning down, Ares runs his mouth over Charles’ neck. Not so much that he draws blood, but he can see the hairs on the man’s body raise, and he feels more than hears the moan grating in Charles’ throat. He follows the reddened lines on the pale skin with his tongue and nips at Charles’ ear as his hand slides down the form beneath him, down to the coarse hair of the man’s groin. He rubs the pads of his fingers through the hair before taking Charles’ cock in hand. The human’s groan, more audible than before, echos off the bedroom walls. He turns his head, exposing his neck to Ares’ ministrations, bucking his hips in an attempt to get Ares moving. 

“Don’t like it when it’s done to you, do you?” Ares thrums smugly as he circles his thumb over Charles’ tip, smearing the moisture of his precum over its head. 

He lets out, what Ares supposes, is his human attempt at a growl and bucks his hips again. “Who says I don’t like it?” Charles reaches down, seeking out Ares’ own member, wrapping his palm around Ares’ cock to do a little of his own teasing. 

Ares takes pleasure in both the physical sensation, and the attempt the human is making at trying to maintain the upper hand. Seeing no reason to delay when they both are so ready, he pulls back, releasing Charles’ cock and swatting the hand on his own away, ignoring the sound of protest. Seeing the fires of desire in the man’s eyes, he motions with his chin. “On your back or front?”

Charles’ gaze drifts slowly over Ares, taking in his form. His eyes linger over Ares’ scars, sucking in his lower lip and scraping his teeth across it,he nods. “Front.”

“They interest you,” he states, knowing the answer, but wanting to hear it anyway.

“Yes.” Charles shrugs. “But I’ll keep my hands off. Don’t worry.”

Ares sighs in amused exasperation and begins to crawl up the bed over Charles. “Humans and your need to touch everything.”

He helps Charles further up the mattress as the man says, “You don’t seem disinterested in touching everything yourself.”

“I don’t do it out of curiosity.” He grumbles and dips his head under Charles’ chin to nip at the skin as he kneels, hands pulling the man’s thighs over his hips.

“It isn’t  _ just  _ curiosity. It’s … arousing, just as much as running my hands over your plates or cock. Stimulating sensations.” Charles rolls his head, exposing his neck for easy access once more. “But like I said-”

As Charles speaks, Ares drops a hand to his own length to coat his fingers in his fluids before slipping his hand beneath Charles’ hips, interrupting him with slick fingers kneading his asshole. He can feels the man’s chuckle against his mouth as he shifts, lifting his ass to welcome Ares’ finger. Enough of a permission to continue, he gently eases his smaller finger into Charles’ ass. 

“Remember our safe word,” Ares says, his breath a light chuff against Charles’ ear as he slowly inserts his finger knuckle by knuckle. Not that he expects the human to back out now, but should the prospect of his talons concern Charles, he will adjust. If there’s two things he knows, it’s how to kill and how to fuck. And they aren’t doing the former here.

He pulls his finger back and pushes in slowly, trying to get the hot channel around it to relax. He purrs in encouragement as he shifts his hand, easing his second finger in with the first, listening for any indication of Charles’ discomfort. The only sign he gets is Charles shifting into a more comfortable position and the sensation of flat teeth nipping at his hide just below his jaw. 

He chuckles, lightly scissoring his fingers as he snarls at the human’s teeth. Feeling that Charles is ready, he removes his fingers and sits up. “Last chance to back out,” he warns, adjusting the human’s legs to rest on the jut of his hips. 

Charles clears his throat, his breath dry and husky. His eyes lock onto Ares’ and he grins. “Shut up and fuck me.”

The noise that escapes Ares’ throat sounds like gravel crunching beneath his boots. He scrapes his talons over the man’s hips, leaving white streaks in their wake, before he reaches down and lines himself up.  _ Last chance _ . Using one hand to push Charles' hips down, he guides his cock, pushing against the man's entrance. Hearing the human's loud moan tears a groan from Ares' throat, and he closes his eyes

Giving the man a moment to adjust, he feels a hand on his shoulder and opens his eyes to look down, hoping it isn’t a sign to stop. Instead, Charles tugs gently, insisting Ares lean down. Ares honors the silent plea, watching how the human’s eyes graze over his body, lingering on his scarring. Rumbling in understanding, he takes the hand from his shoulder and presses it against his chest.

Unexpectedly, Charles tenses. His eyes dart back to Ares, pulling his hand away. His scent takes on the bitter edge of someone who’s been insulted. “I said I wouldn’t touch. I meant it.”

“Take it how you want.” He shrugs. “Besides, I don’t feel anything there.”

Charles stares, his mouth agape as if he isn’t really sure what to do or say in the situation. Eventually, he gives a slight shake of his head and bucks his hips, urging Ares’ to continue. His hand slides back up Ares’ arm, blunt fingers digging into his shoulder.

Annoyed, Ares pries the hand from his shoulder and returns it to his chest. “I won’t give you permission again.”

He raises an eyebrow in question, and when Ares nods, Charles relaxes his hand over the scars. Moving his fingers gently over the creased tissue, his eyes flicking to Ares’, gauging his reaction. 

Ares doesn’t move to pull him off or keep him there, leaving it up to the man to chose now that he’s given permission. Instead, he slowly pulls back and presses in again, testing to see if he’s hurting Charles . His lip twitches, an eye squinting in a wince, but he nods a ‘go ahead’ without looking up from Ares’ chest. In any other situation that doesn’t involve him with his cock buried deep in the man, he’d find amusement in the awe. 

Taking the go, he starts to move, slowly building up a steady pace as soft growls of pleasure trickle from his throat. He starts to hear Charles grunt through his moans, his eyes fighting to stay open as he loses himself in the pleasure. Ares drops his hand to the man’s cock, stroking in time with his own thrusts. 

He clicks in the back of his throat, leaning down to use his forearm for support as he speeds up, Charles' bare thighs buffering the crashing weight of Ares' own plated legs was starting to create an audible smack. Growing louder against his ear, the human's moans spur Ares on, nipping at Charles' ear and licking the sting away with his tongue.

Charles pants as he tilts his head to the side pushing his neck against Ares’ jaw, hands splaying across Ares’ scars as he digs the tips of his fingers into the muscle beneath. Ares smirks against the sweaty skin, knowing what the man wants, but wanting to hear ask for it. Instead of doing anything to the offered neck, he focuses on the cock in his hand and his own in the man’s ass. A huff of exasperation reaches his ears and he leans up to look down at the human, his hot breath fanning against his face. “Say it. Say what you want.” Charles denies him what he wants with a visible clench of his jaw. It only spurs Ares on, flicking his tongue along the man’s jaw. “Say it.” There’s a mumble and he rumbles in question, pressing on with hips and vocals. Plunging deep, he grinds his hips against the male and hears him try to bite back his moan. 

Through gritted teeth, Charles finally speaks in a way that borders between plea and demand, “Bite. Me.” 

Flicking his mandible in victory, Ares lunges, latching his teeth around the man’s shoulder, far enough to the side so as not to be confused with a bondmark, but in the soft tissue where his teeth will surely leave a scar. His teeth sink easily into the soft flesh, and he feels trembling hands grip his shoulders. 

“M...More. Harder… Please,” the man whispers, a nearly inaudible sound, but Ares hears the desperation well enough. Yet, Ares teases him, rumbling around the flesh to send vibrations deep into the bite. That draws a needy whimper from the vulnerable human as the hands on his shoulders move to grab at his fringe and head. The scent of a desperation so strong it borders on madness wafts up to his nose, mixing with the taste of salt on his tongue from blood and sweat. “Please! Harder!”

Ares lets the primal snarl rip through his throat, using the full force of his jaws to sink his teeth deeper into the man's flesh until he feels the resistance of bone. He holds the male there, his cries of pleasure near deafening so close to Ares' ears, as Charles' spends himself in a hot geyser all over Ares' hand and his own belly . With the smell of his partner’s seed and the tight grip on his sensitive fringe, Ares only needs one hard thrust before he too spills himself with another hoarse snarl.

* * *

 

Charles watches as Thanatos leaves him to tend to his fresh wounds. Once the turian is gone from sight, he sits on the edge of the bed and runs his fingers through his hair, a stupid grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Catching his breath, he forgoes the idea of finding clean clothes and instead grabs his robe off the hook next to the bedroom door and makes his way to the bathroom to clean himself up.

Once composed, Charles finds his shredded pants to dig out his wallet and pack of clove cigarillos. He follows the scent of burning tobacco out to the balcony, spotting Thanatos by the glow of his cigarette. Crossing the floor, wary of the rug that nearly made him break his neck earlier in the evening, and not trusting his wobbling legs to hold him up should he stumble, Charles makes his way out to the balcony.

He shakes a cigarillo from the pack and brushes the debris from the filter before putting it between his lips. Charles sparks the lighter, pausing with the flame flickering in front of his face when he catches the movement of Thanatos flinching. Without saying a word, he lights his cigarillo and shoves the lighter in his robe pocket along with the pack. 

Taking a hesitant step closer to the looming silhouette, he leans against the railing a few feet away from the turian, nude but with length retracted. Charles watches him out of the corner of his eye, the light from his puffing flickering over the silent turian. Charles takes a drag from his own smoke and glances out over the Citadel. “You still owe me a new pair of cuffs.”

Thanatos chuckles and leans his forearms on the railing, rumbling. “You can always take mine. They’re the real thing.”

Charles quirks his lips and shakes his head. “No safety release.” He ashes his cigarillo over the balcony. “And why do I get the feeling you’d insist on keeping the key?”

“It’s more fun that way,” he responds with that flick of his mandible that  _ has  _ to be a smirk before straightening back up and looking over to him. “You know this never leaves this apartment, don’t you?” His tone rings of a warning Charles understands given the turian’s occupation.

“Of course.” Charles gives a slight shake of his head. “That’s not really my style, and you know, the whole not interested in the ‘suicide by turian assassin thing.’” He winks at Thanatos when he catches his eye. “Back to Illium?”

“I go where there’s work.” He takes a pull from his cigarette before blowing it out over the Citadel and watching it drift into nothing. “Right now, I don’t have work.”

Charles turns his face away, trying not to let the stupid idea that’s trying to take form in his head make it’s way out of his mouth. “So, sticking around for awhile?”

“Yes.” His voice gives nothing away as he stares out over the expanse of the Ward.

Charles takes another drag, letting the smoke seep out of his nostrils a moment before blowing the rest from his mouth. He lets Thanatos’ ‘yes’ sit in silence for a few seconds before giving in to the temptation. “Need a place to stay?” A brow plate quirks in question for elaboration as the turian turns those predatory eyes to him. Charles turns his face back out over the Citadel. “You’re welcome to stay, if you’d like. ‘Til you get work.”

“You know that comes with risks.”

“I work in the fucking Citadel Souvenirs, sue me, if I think it might be just a little more interesting having someone else around for awhile.” Charles scoffs. “It’s not like I have a lot to lose.” 

“You have a life.” He flicks off ash over the balcony railing. “That counts as ‘a lot’.”

Charles shakes his head, turning on his heel and pushing away from the balcony. “Don’t really need the lecture. It was an offer, take it or leave it.” He makes his way back into the apartment, refusing to allow himself to feel the sting of rejection as he picks up an ashtray and heads to the kitchen. He grabs his glass from the counter and downs the rest of the whiskey, turning to rest his hip against the edge as he pours himself another.

Footsteps enter the apartment, and Thanatos moves to the trash, tossing something before he speaks. “It’s not a lecture.” He turns to reveal that his scarring spans up his neck and over his face - something that Charles is sure wasn’t there when they started all this. “It’s a cautionary tale.” 

Charles taps the ashes off his cigarillo before taking another deep drag, soaking in the image before him. He knows that he should be alarmed, that he should heed the turian’s warning but he can’t find it in himself to care. He stubs out the cigarillo, carefully settling the ashtray on the counter beside him before downing the contents of his glass. 

Charles crosses over to stand in front of Thanatos, locking eyes with his - one completely white and the other a shade of blue. “Like I said, take it or leave it. I’m not completely clueless to the dangers, believe it or not.”

He chuckles and flicks his mandible. “You  _ are  _ clueless to how the Hierarchy trains their soldiers.” 

Charles snorts. “I’m human. I should be clueless to how the Hierarchy trains their soldiers. Don’t get me wrong, that was fantastic and all, but I wouldn’t be in any hurry to give you Alliance secrets if I had them.”

“Afraid all my Hierarchy secrets are outdated anyways.” He leans against the counter and crosses his arms with a hum in his chest. “Alright.”

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” Charles chuckles. “I’m exhausted. Sleeping preferences?”

“I don’t have any. I sleep whenever and wherever I find safety.” He motions to the couch before the bedroom. “I believe it is the host’s duty to designate that.”

Charles scoffs, a grin belying the disdain. “There’s a couch, and a bed.” Charles brushes past Thanatos to head to his room. “I’ll be in my bed, sleep where you want.” Charles hangs his robe up before turning off the light and crawling under the sheets, shoving his pillow around until he’s comfortable. “Lock the door before you crash?” He says with a raised voice.

He is close to sleep when a weight shifts the bed, bringing a smile to his face. He can feel Thanatos adjusting the pillows as he settles in, trying to find a comfortable position before rumbling. “If I scream, do not try to wake me.”

“Okay,” Charles says simply enough, his voice little more than a whisper in hopes that the silly grin on his face isn’t heard in his voice. Moments later, he drifts off into oblivion.


End file.
